


charlie

by deadlybride



Series: Milk Carton Kids [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean & parenting, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7377151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>March 28, 2004. Dean considers a future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	charlie

**Author's Note:**

> Milk Carton Kids - Live at Lincoln Theatre, track five.
> 
> (Disclaimer: despite the title, this has nothing to do with Charlie Bradbury.)

_Come to me with problems,_   
_I swear I won't go try to solve 'em—_   
_I'll only tell you everything I know:_   
_like standing tall was all I had,_   
_like boys are bad and love's a fad_   
_that no one ever learns to just let go._

 

Cassie eases off of him on shaky legs, rolls away and buries her face in the pillow with a groan. “I’ve got class in five hours,” she mumbles, petulant. “I can’t have any more. Go away.”

Dean strokes a heavy thumb down the sweaty line of her spine and she arches like a satisfied cat. “Sure?” he says, and he knows he sounds smug, but damn if her hips don’t grind a little down into the mattress. She doesn’t roll back over, though, swatting blindly at him with one hand. He smiles, kisses the fine clean line of her shoulderblade (hint of tongue, he can’t help himself), and rolls off the bed to clean up.

She’s asleep by the time he gets back. He stands by the side of the bed, watches the rise and fall of her neat, narrow back, the way her skin glows in the lamplight against the white sheets, still sheened with sweat. Her hair’s a mess, frizzed-out curls all over the pillow. He loves the weight of it in his hands when he’s kissing her, the way it falls around their faces when she’s riding him, fingernails biting into his chest, their lips brushing sticky-sore against each other—

He eases down onto his side of the mattress. He keeps thinking like that, he’ll have to take care of himself, and he’s frankly not sure he has much more in him. She takes a lot—a handful, no doubt about it, and he’s not quite sure what she sees in him (other than the obvious), but he’s not going to question it.

He tucks a hand behind his head. A breeze is stirring the lace curtain through the open window, easing the thick atmosphere that’s built up in Cassie’s cramped student apartment. The spring’s been easy so far in Ohio and Dean hasn’t had much to do. Dad said he’d call with Dean’s next job, and he finished clearing out the ghosts in the theater three weeks ago, so until then he’s… adrift. Been a while since he’s had so much time to kill. Been a while since he hasn’t had any responsibilities to think of, since he’s had no one to look out for. It’s… nice, kind of.

He scratches his chest, stretches a little. He could get used to this. A bed he’d get to sleep in for more than one night. An apartment he could etch in salt and sigils—or, hell, maybe a house, even. A place to keep the Impala, to store more and better tools for her. He’d keep working, of course. He’s not going to betray the family, and it’s important, what they do, keeping people safe. Saving them. But… he could have a home base, maybe. A little oasis. He starts sketching it out in his head: two stories, definitely, a basement and an attached garage. Three bedrooms: one just for him (and Cassie, he amends), guest rooms. In case anyone ever came to visit. Cassie probably has family, after all. Maybe a kid’s room.

He closes his eyes, imagining it. A kid. He could… yeah. He could do that. A little girl, maybe. Raising just the one boy was hard enough. A girl, with curly dark hair, maybe with freckles. They’d be cute on a girl. She’d be whip-smart, like her mom. She’d stand up to anybody. He’d teach her how to shoot, how to throw a punch, how to rebuild a carburetor. Read her stories, maybe, at night when she was scared of the dark (because he’d have to tell her, he’d have to—couldn’t let her face the idea that her dad just disappeared into the night, if she didn’t know what was out there). They’d be friends, he thinks, rolling so that his back’s to Cassie, their legs barely brushing under the sheets. She’d roll her eyes at his jokes, maybe think he was lame, but he’d love her and she’d love him and they’d—they’d stay together, no matter what, he thinks. She’d be his, forever, to keep close and safe. He curls an arm under his pillow, finds himself staring unseeing into the dark outside the window. A pact of family that would never be broken. He thinks that’d be nice.

**  
**


End file.
